


Hypnagogia

by weardodo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Barebacking, But turns happy so don't worry.., Dreams, First Kiss, First Time, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Rimming, sex without condom because Stiles cleaned himself and werewolves don't get sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weardodo/pseuds/weardodo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3 times Peter and Stiles share a dream (and the 1 time they didn’t have to)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea... then I came across that prompt about Peter having a wet-dream about Stiles and I went for that one first... then another little fic came along... and today I faltered for writing that first idea down and making a WIP again *sorry*
> 
> I'm making it into a 3+1 instead of a 5+1 bc I'm not sure if I have enough mental juice to write something longer...
> 
> I'm making it up as I go along, so I hope the words will keep coming ;)
> 
> This will def. be a bit different that usual seeing as it contains some angst... but it brings them together, so... ^^
> 
> Unbeta'd, blahblah, all mistakes can be put on my tombstone.
> 
> Seeing as this really is a different theme to write for me considering the angst-part, please let me know what you think (like if I absolutely suck at it ;))

 

 

_**“[…]for often when one is asleep, there is something in consciousness which declares that what then presents itself is but a dream.”  – Aristotle, De insomniis –** _

 

_The Hypnagogic state of consciousness or the state of consciousness between wakefulness and sleep is also referred to as ‘threshold consciousness’ in which we can experience hallucinations and sleep paralysis._

_The most commonly known state of Hypnagogia however, is the state in which the affected person is fully aware of one’s dream, a state of consciousness known as ‘lucid dreaming’._ _The dreamer is often able to exert a degree of control over their dream and their participation in it, being able to manipulate its course and experiencing its content as being extremely realistic and vivid._

_There are stories about people claiming having experienced a so called ‘shared lucid dream’, in which another person’s dream is merged with their own and both dreamers were able to communicate with each-other and influence the contents of the dream with equal measure. There are theories going around – mostly corridor-talk among psychologists –  about the possible causes of such shared dreams, some stating it has to do with certain psychological trauma binding the dreamers together, others thinking it has to do with an unconscious connection both dreamers feel for one another. However, to date no scientific proof of such shared dreams or their causes have been recorded._

 

 

**1.What Are You Doing Here?**

 

He knows he’s dreaming, he’s had this dream before.

 

He’s standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen, watching his mother prepare dinner, her back turned towards him, and every-time he walks through the doorway, his hand reaching out towards her, to touch her, to turn her around and be able to hug her just one last time, the room turns black and his mother is gone. He calls out for her, but she’s gone and the tiles of the kitchen are replaced with the damp and soggy ground of the cemetery. Instead of warmth and the smell of his mom’s home-cooked lasagna, the air is poignant with grief and the smell of death. He’s at the cemetery and watches how his mother’s coffin is being lowered into her grave.

 

His psychologist explained to him about these type of dreams once, explaining him why it feels so real, how come he can change his course of actions – even though he can never change the dreams outcome – and why he’s always able to remember every single detail.

 

Apparently Stiles’ severe sleep deprivation has a part in it, makes him slumber into those few hours of a trance-like state of consciousness, makes him relive those feelings, that pain, as if it was happening all over again. Of course the knowledge of what will await him if he’d fall asleep doesn’t really help his insomnia, and the more hours he spends awake the more vivid his lucid dreams become.

 

 

There’s something different this time though, something that makes him turn away from the kitchen instead of walking in. The feeling of another presence makes him turn around towards the living room and there’s someone standing there in front of the window, staring through it, hands holding each-other by four hooked fingers behind his – it is a man, that much is clear – back. He can’t see the man’s face as he has his back towards him, and when Stiles moves in closer the room changes and the smell of mold and rotted wood fills his nose.

 

Readjusting his eyes to the new surroundings, he sees the man still standing there, unmoved, still gazing through the window, only now the window consists of broken glass hanging from a windowframe of blackened rotting wood. He recognizes this place, he’s been here before. He’s at the old Hale House and when he walks towards the man, able to see the man’s face from the side, he recognizes him too. _Peter Hale_.

 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asks in confusion. What the hell is he doing dreaming of the Hale House and more importantly, why is he dreaming of Peter? What the hell is this man doing in his dream? Peter looks a bit startled, eyeing him up and down looking just as confused as Stiles feels. Stiles can see the remnants of tears on the man’s face, two thin lines tracing a path from his eyes down across his cheeks. They look controlled, like the tears had formed and rolled down without the man’s permission.

 

“I could ask you the same question,” the man says while looking at him with a hint of suspicion. “To my knowledge this isn’t supposed to be _that_ kind of dream, and to be quite honest I’m really not in the mood for your presence right now, so if you can just _skedaddle_.” Peter turns to face the window again and emphasizes his last word by making a hand-motion that clearly says ‘run along now’.

 

Stiles isn’t so easily dismissed though, after all, this is his fucking dream and who the hell does Peter think he is telling him to get lost in his own dream. “No,” he says instead of following Peter’s orders. “Last I checked you suddenly appeared in my dream, buddy, and I’m not leaving until I get some answers.” He sounded pissed, he knew he sounded pissed, but then again, he really was pissed.

 

Peter had turned towards Stiles and was looking at him with his eyebrows raised again. “Wait, what?” The man spoke clearly confused. “Your dream? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you aren’t exactly in some girl’s bedroom playing footsy here, Stiles.” Peter sounded agitated, and somehow the man’s tone of voice and choice of words only made him more pissed.

 

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but apparently we somehow ended up in each-other’s dream and it’s not my fault, so could you just please keep your snarky attitude for when I’m not thinking about my dead mother and help me fix this so I can return to my own nightmare and I can spend all my daily hours feeling like crap in peace?”

 

He didn’t mean to blow up all in Peter’s face like that, he really didn’t, but the feeling that he should be attending his mom’s funeral right now instead of standing here with Peter Hale biting his face off for something he had no control over was getting the better of him. He instantly felt bad though, especially when he saw how the man’s face had dropped at his words and Peter’s confident posture had faltered into one that spoke of understanding and sadness.

 

“Shit,” he offered when realizing where they were and what Peter had been through himself with his own family. “Shit dude, I – I’m sorry, I –   _fuck_.” He dropped his gaze to the ground, feeling somewhat ashamed for being so selfish. Peter didn’t respond though, he just turned towards the window again and Stiles somehow felt compelled to join him, so he walked over and stood besides the other man in silence, looking at the flames burning on the other side of the broken glass.

 

“I’m sorry too.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not exactly sure where this is going... I am sure about one thing though: I need to drink less during hollidays and start writing fics while sober ^^ 
> 
> Let me know what you think so far! =)
> 
> -x-

 

 

 

**2\. I’ve Been Expecting You**

 

 

“Did they suffer?”

 

They’d been standing there for a while, watching the flames lick at the house, hearing the wood crisp, feeling the heat of the fire on his skin, making it feel raw and sunburned. Stiles had been surprisingly silent and every time Peter had glanced at the boy, he could see the way the shadows of the flames danced across the kid’s face, the fire reflecting in his eyes as he stared at it in resignation.

 

“Yes,” he answered in all earnest and without doubt. “Yes, they suffered.”

 

Stiles had looked up at that, catching Peter’s eyes and giving him a knowingly nod before turning his gaze towards the flames again. They both stayed silent after that.

 

+++

 

He still wasn’t entirely sure if Stiles’ appearance was something his mind had made up, that his brain had somehow mixed two entirely different dreams together and that the way the kid had reacted was just something he had imagined – or ‘hoped’? – Stiles’ reaction would be, or if it had been real.

 

It felt real.

 

He didn’t know how it was possible for the kid to enter his dream like that – or for him to enter the kid’s dream, he hadn’t figured that one out yet – , but somehow Stiles’ presence that night had made him feel better, feel like he didn’t have to bare the heavy weight of guilt and grief alone.

 

Stiles was damaged too, he knows what it feels like to lose, to watch someone suffer and die. Stiles apparently too mourned his loss while dreaming, only to be able to keep up appearances while awake.

 

Strangely enough, he had felt a little less lost, standing there in silence with Stiles standing next to him, watching the flames that burned his family, that burned him.

 

 

Trying to keep his mind otherwise occupied he had started to read the Beacon Hills Daily while sipping his morning-coffee, going over the – mostly insignificant – articles when his phone beeped, telling him he’d received a text-message. When he opened the text from an unknown number he knew exactly who it was from and what the question was about.

 

**760-987-4341: _Yes or no?_**

 

‘ ** _Yes_** ’ he replied back only to hear his phone beep again almost immediately.

 

**760-987-4341: _Tonight?_**

 

**_I don’t know._ **

 

And he didn’t. He had no idea if this had been just a onetime thing, a fluke. He did know one thing though, he actually hoped it wasn’t.

 

Even though he had no intention of using it, he saved Stiles’ number, just in case.

 

 

+++

 

 

He didn’t dream about the fire that night, nor the night after that, and in turn he didn’t see Stiles. At least not until four days later.

 

Drifting away in the comfort of his warm bed, the smell of mold and burned wood started to fill his nose and it wasn’t long before he was standing in front  of the window again, feeling the heat of the flames and seeing the fire flicker in his eyes. He didn’t stay there watching this time though, instead he turned around and started walking away, started walking further into the house in search of something else.

 

Within seconds he found what he was looking for. Stiles was standing there in the charred frame of what used to once be the doorway leading into the kitchen. As he approached the kid, the room changed and he instantly realized where he was.

 

Stiles’ house looked quite ‘homey’, for lack of a better word. The walls and dressers are filled with family-pictures, snapshots of happy moments worth remembering. He used to have those too.

 

The moment he reached Stiles he just stood there next to him, watching the scene that Stiles was observing, seeing the brown-haired woman rummaging around the kitchen, working on what looked like some sort of meal.

 

He didn’t say a word, and Stiles, who must’ve noticed his presence by now, didn’t speak nor let his eyes leave the woman for a second to acknowledge him. Even in his dreams he could smell the sadness flowing of off the kid, a combination of hope and despair. He stood there beside the boy in silence for a while before Stiles finally spoke.

 

“I’ve been expecting you.”

 

He didn’t respond to that, as it clearly wasn’t something the kid had said to start some kind of chit-chat.

 

“She’s gorgeous,” he said instead and in all honesty, because she was.

 

“I know,” Stiles agrees still fully focused on his mother, his eyes glistering with held back tears.

 

Suddenly he felt the boys hand searching for his own, grabbing his wrist in silence as he walked through the doorframe, taking Peter with him while lifting his other arm up, his hand trying to reach for the ghostly brown-haired lady. That’s when he noticed they were no longer in the kitchen, and the smell of death filled his nose.

 

Stiles released his wrist, and just stood there, watching the scene of a funeral. His mother’s funeral, Peter knew as he stood there next to the boy, seeing the coffin being lowered into its grave. When he looked over to the boy beside him, he saw how tears were streaming from Stiles’ still transfixed eyes.

 

Before he realized what he was doing, he automatically lifted his own hand and placed it on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing it a bit without saying a word, a gesture of comfort.

 

They stood there until the coffin was fully lowered and the sky turned a dark grey color reminding him of grief, when suddenly Stiles turned towards him.

 

“Come on, let’s go.” The kid looked determined, grabbing his hand while walking passed him in the opposite direction.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“We need fun,” the kid retorted as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re going to go somewhere fun.”

 

 

+++

 

 

“Seriously Stiles, a Fair?” The sight of all the twirling lights and rides almost made him feel nauseous. “Your idea of fun is a Fair?” He rolled his eyes dramatically as he sighed but nevertheless followed Stiles’ lead.

 

“What? Fairs are the best!” Stiles actually sounded ánd looked like a giddy kid as they walked down the small hill leading up to the mash of colors, music, and lights, and Peter couldn’t help the little fond smile that appeared on his face.

 

Of course Stiles would love something like this, something that looked and sounded like a pure chaos of affections. Peter should’ve known.

 

Stiles had started to run – or rather ‘skip’–  towards the ‘fun’, but when he turned around and saw that Peter was strolling and falling behind, he ran back only to grab his hand and literally drag him towards the fuss. Peter rolled his eyes again but let himself be dragged.

 

“Oh! A roller-coaster! We are _so_ getting on that!”

 

Looking at the ride and seeing the train of carts going into loops and cork-screws did nothing to convince him that this was going to be ‘fun’. He’d never been on a roller-coaster before. He had _consciously chosen_ never to go on a roller-coaster before, but he didn’t want to let the boy know what a wimp he actually was when it came to rides like that, so he entered the cart – the front one, obviously, because according to Stiles that was the best spot to get the full ‘thrill-experience’– and waited for the seat-belts to drop.

 

“This is gonna be so good!” Stiles smiled while holding the handles as the ride began to move.

 

 _This is going to be pure hell_ , Peter thought as he could see his knuckles whiten from gripping the handles too tight.

 

The way up went slow, _excruciatingly slow_ , and when they reached the top and slowly went over until the center of gravity was on their side, Stiles threw his arms in the air and the clicking sound of the rails got replaced by a single click of the train being released. _Why the hell did he agree to do this? Who in their right minds would ever willingly step aboard something like this, ever?_

 

Seeing the oncoming loops he automatically closed his eyes, feeling the color literally get drained from his face. _He was definitely going to die, again._ As he felt his body losing gravity before regaining it again and losing it again, he suddenly felt fingers nudging at his hand. He released his hand for a second only to replace the handle with the offered hand and when he turned his head and blinked his eyes open, his hand was in Stiles’ and the boy was smiling at him while letting his thumb caress Peter’s knuckles.

 

Peter was sure he just lost another one of his nine-lives – the ride didn’t take that long ( _thank god!_ ) – and he almost pushed the girdle of its hinges to get out of that cart from hell. Stiles actually dared to laugh at him, at the way he swayed a bit as if being drunk when he finally felt the steady ground underneath his feet.

 

“You’re a little shit, you know that,” he noted while walking through the exit still keeping hold of the railing as he walked. Stiles just laughed harder at that, doubling over while petting Peter’s arm. The kid sniffed a couple of times, wiping away some of the tears at the corners of his eyes before hooking his arm in Peter’s.

 

“Come on old man, let’s get some snacks.” Stiles led him towards a bright yellow and pink cotton-candy stand, because of course Stiles’ idea of snacking had to involve sugar.

 

Luckily there was another stand nearby selling actual food – of course there was, after all, Stiles had made this Fair up himself – but he couldn’t avoid the little dots of pink wool-like sugar that were literally being pressed into his mouth. The taste of sugar mixing with his fries was downright awful, but the sight of the boy licking his long lean fingers afterwards made up for that.

 

Stiles smiled and looked happy, and Peter couldn’t help but actually enjoy himself while watching the kid eating and talking and almost tripping over his own limbs as they walked. Although he was reluctant to admit it, Stiles had been right. This was exactly what they both needed, innocent fun.

 

Suddenly halting before an indoor hall with bright lights blinking saying ‘Arcade-games’, Stiles turned towards him with a smirk.

 

“Bet you never played those before either,” the kid said while grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the entrance. “Come on, you’ll love this.”

 

“Somehow I honestly doubt that,” he deadpanned while reluctantly following him inside.

 

They started some shooting-game and even though Peter was adamant about not going to enjoy it at all, it didn’t take long before he somehow got sucked into the game and was yelling and talking to the onscreen figures while pressing buttons and pulling triggers like a madman.

 

They walked out laughing and reviewing until they both flopped onto the nearest bench to catch their breath. Stiles had been right, it was fun, exhausting but definitely fun.

 

When the laughter and talking died down, Peter looked up only to see Stiles watching him intently, and before he could ask what was wrong the kid suddenly leaned in and planted his mouth on Peter’s, a quick smash of lips on lips. It startled him to such a degree that before he even realized what the hell was happening, Stiles had backed away looking at Peter with eyes wide in shock.

 

“Oh my god! I – Oh my god… I’m so _so_ sorry, I – I need to go.” And just like that, the kid walked – well, technically he _ran_ – away, leaving a confused Peter behind, the sweet taste of Stiles and sugar still lingering on his lips as he slowly awoke.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

**3\. Take a Chance.**

 

Why’d he have to kiss Peter of all people?

 

It was a pointless question, because he knew the answer damn well. It had felt right. Somehow the feeling of the man’s presence in his usually so bleak dreams had drained away the sadness that encompassed him whenever he would awake and replaced it with a feeling of something else, something good. Comfort.

 

He had slept better after that first time, not afraid to drift off anymore, not fearing the moment of waking up to the overwhelming feeling of bitterness and pain that would make him feel on edge throughout the day, his body on the verge of panic every-time he left his room or opened the front door when he got back from school only to discover that she wouldn’t be there, that she’s gone forever and all that’s left are the slowly fading memories and the pictures to help him remember what she was like.

 

He had fun with Peter at that Fair, even though he knows that it was just a dream. Spending time with someone who is as desperate as he is in trying to deal with the heavy feeling of loss somehow made him feel like he could breathe again, like he wasn’t alone, and that shared feeling had made the fun they had feel more real than any attempted distraction in real life had ever achieved.

 

Of course the fact that Peter looked every bit as hot in his dreams as he did in real life probably also helped his spur of the moment decision a bit, after all, he was a teenager with a libido the size of Alaska and a sex-life the size of Non-Existent.

 

The fact that he’d never seen the man laugh like that before didn’t help either, a genuine laugh, like the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders by just being there with Stiles, playing games and eating junk-food, talking about insignificant things and watching other people walk passed them only to throw judging and insulting remarks about them back and forward making them both snigger and bolt into slowly intensifying fits of laughter.

 

Peter’s carefree smile was almost intoxicating, it made the man look even more gorgeous, and while Stiles had watched him sitting beside him, the remnants of unadulterated joy still visible on the man’s face, his whole posture radiating content, the desire to kiss Peter had just overwhelmed him and before he knew what he was doing he felt his own lips pressing against the older man’s, their lips sticking slightly together from the cotton-candy as he backed away in shock.

 

He really hoped Peter wasn’t going to rip his throat out in real life, and he thanked god and the heavens above that he didn’t have to come face to face with the man anytime soon. At least not outside of his dreams that is.

 

+++

 

He’s at a park he vaguely recognizes when he sees Peter sitting at a bench in front of a children’s playground, watching how a young girl of about six or seven was hanging from some racks like a monkey.

 

“You know, this really doesn’t help people’s general assumptions about you,” he playfully noted as he sat down next to the older man and watched how the little girl hung upside down with her legs hooked on one of the railings. Peter didn’t respond to that, he just kept watching how the girl dangled while trying to keep her flower-covered dress from falling down with her hands.

 

“Her name is Caitlyn – and yes, I do realize the bitter irony of that. She would’ve turned 13 next month. Her name means ‘pure’, and she was, she _is_ , pure, just like you. You two probably would’ve gotten along to a highly annoying degree,” Peter snorts at those words as if he could already imagine Stiles and his daughter in one room together. “She somehow always knew how to drive me up all four walls and still be able to make me love her more every single day.”

 

“I’m sorry I just ran away like that.”

 

He watched how the man’s eyes gazed to the floor as he started caressing his bottom-lip while seemingly caught in a thought. “Why did you kiss me, Stiles?”

 

“Because I wanted to,” he knew this question was bound to come up, so he’d thought about what he would say when Peter’d ask him. “And I still do.” The man looked up at that, a hint of surprise and wonder visible in his eyes as he tried to read Stiles’ words for what they meant. Stiles just looked back, smiling with intention as he unconsciously bit his lower lip and started to move forward, swinging his leg across Peter’s legs and straddling the man’s lap.

 

Peter just looked up at him with surprise and expectation as Stiles could feel the older man’s hands settle against his thighs, fingers slowly caressing their new found resting-place.

 

Something else had been bugging him though, something Peter had said that first night while standing at the remnants of the Hale House window.

 

“What did you mean when you said that you were sure this wasn’t _thát_ kind of dream, you know, that night when I first walked in on you?”

 

“I think you know what it meant, Stiles. If you want to ask me something just ask.”

 

“Do you have sex-dreams about me?” It sounded somewhat – okay, ‘a whole lot’ – stupid saying it out loud like that and he could feel the flush rising on his neck and cheeks as he tried to avoid the older man’s eyes.

 

“Yes.” Well, at least Peter certainly didn’t beat around the bush about that one.

 

“What do I do in those dreams?” Hey, if they were going to have this awkward conversation anyway, why not go all out, right? And besides, he was really curious about what he was capable of doing in Peter’s dreams. What if he was some kind of sex-god or something? Being a virgin in real life, that sort of information is highly crucial, obviously.

 

The older man smirks at that, looking at an indistinct spot on the floor as if replaying certain parts of those dreams in his head. “Not much. Usually I’m the one that’s doing you.”

 

Stiles probably looked beet-red right about now, but the thought of Peter ‘doing him’ made the simmering feeling of lust boil inside his loins and he was definitely getting hard. He wants that, he wants to have sex with Peter in his dreams, to feel as close as possible to this man who makes him feel better than he has felt in a very long time.

 

“I want that,” he said with determination before he even had time to agree with his own words. “I want to share a sex-dream with you.” He suddenly realized that he sounded like he was making a demand instead of asking if Peter even wanted to share a dream like that with him participating for real – well, as real as their dreams are anyway.

 

“I mean, if you want to of course…?” He hadn’t even blinked when he noticed that the park-bench was gone and they were now sitting on a couch in someone’s living-room. He looked around in confusion, taking in his surroundings before turning his eyes to Peter again.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“At my apartment,” Peter answered as his hands started to roam up Stiles’ back. Well, that certainly answered Stiles’ question about Peter wanting to have _dream-sex_ with him – god, that somehow sounds all sorts of wrong in his head.

 

Hesitantly placing his hands on the man’s chest – god, there should be a law about restricting people from wearing those kind of V-necks in dreams too. But then again, maybe Peter’s choice in wardrobe was something that came from Stiles’ own subconscious – he leans forward and let’s his mouth ghost over the older man’s in front of him (or ‘beneath’ him, if you want to get technical).

 

Peter just looks at him like he’s amazed at having Stiles sitting on top of him like this, like he can’t for the life of him imagine Stiles wanting someone like him, and it’s a look that makes Stiles want him even more, so he presses forward until his lips are pressing down onto the man’s soft – and Peter’s lips are incredibly soft – slightly parted mouth.

 

“I want you,” he whispers into his mouth and he can feel Peter’s hands stop their circling motion on his sides before the man’s grip tightens and he pulls Stiles closer to deepen the kiss.

 

Of course that’s when the world suddenly goes black and the sound of the Jurassic Park theme-song fills the silence. He should really change the tune of his alarm.

 

Grunting into his pillow he reaches for his phone to shut the alarm off.

 

“My life sucks!” because seriously, he can’t even get laid in his dreams, how unfair is that!

 

Getting ready for school, he was just happy about the fact that all supernatural shenanigans were on an all time low in the Beacon Hills region, meaning he didn’t have to see Peter in real life for an unknown period of time, ‘cause that would’ve probably turned out really embarrassing.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.. so.. sorry for the long wait, but holliday-shizzle came in between ánd a severe (asin 'massive proportions') lack of inspiration... Basically I had to force this last chapter out of myself, and I'm not happy with it, but I didn't want to leave it WIP-ed any longer.. ^^
> 
> Hope it's a little bit okay anyway and once again, sorry for the long wait.
> 
> Let me know what what ya think ^^
> 
> -x-

 

 

**+1.  Hypnopompia**

 

 

Of course he gets called out for an emergency pack-meeting that night, because that is just the way the karma-gods seem to work in Stiles’ life. And _of course_ he ends up having to patrol with Peter Hale, alone, in his Jeep, at night, because his life somehow just relishes in making things worse when Stiles thinks it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

 

Keeping his focus directed on the part of the woods that Derek instructed them to keep an eye on, he feels the way the older man’s eyes are burning in the side of his skull like he’s trying to make Stiles look at him by just using the sheer power of his will. Well this is awkward, to say the least.

 

It is not like him to stay quiet like this, but he can’t for the life of him think of something casual to say that doesn’t include things like ‘so, we almost had sex’ or ‘I like the way your tongue feels in my mouth’ – or ‘I wonder what your cock would feel like up my ass’– , so he tries his best to avoid any eye-contact and pretends he’s just really _really_ interested in one of the trees in front of the car.  _Very awkward._

 

He shifts uncomfortably, his hand cushioning his head against the side-window while rethinking all of his life’s choices. It’s not that he wants to ignore Peter, it’s just that he really doesn’t know how to deal with the man beside him right now, not when they both know what they shared in their dreams, not when he humped the man’s lap and had his tongue in the man’s throat just the other night, telling him he wants him.

 

Everything was so much easier when it was just a dream, he’d felt so much more confident then, feeling like it was just their world and theirs alone. He could be anyone he wanted to be in that world, and so could Peter. He could make Peter be anyone he wanted the man to be, and maybe he had, or maybe Peter had made himself into something he thought Stiles would want him to be. _God this was confusing._

 

For the first time he truly had no idea what to say or think, so he just sat there, staring at the dark outlines of the trees, ignoring the man sitting beside him while going over and over last night’s events in his head.

 

They sat there in silence for hours before Stiles turned the key in the ignition to head home. He knew he’d have to finally speak to Peter, seeing as he had to ask him where he should drop him off, but before he even had a chance to open his mouth, Peter had opened the door and hopped out, only turning around once to break the silence.   

 

“Don’t worry, Stiles, I know you would never want someone like me in real life.” It was meant to sound uncaring and light, _frivolous_ even, but Stiles could hear the snark behind it and the hint of hurt in the man’s voice, and just like that the car-door slammed shut and Peter’s gone.

 

+++

 

The thing is, he doesn’t know if he’d want Peter for real or not, if it’s just a desire he’s been willing to act on because he knows it’s only a dream, a _very vivid_ and _very real-feeling_ dream at that, but a dream nonetheless. _Would he want to lose his virginity to Peter Hale for real?_

 

A little voice in the back of his head already answered that question numerous times that day, ‘yes, Stiles, you’d want Peter to fuck you for real’. He tried to ignore that voice, tried to approach it with sober rationale instead of his irrational teenage hormones. But was that really all it was, ‘teenage hormones’?

 

Somehow the thought of having sex with the older werewolf makes him feel things that don’t seem purely irrational. He felt alive with Peter in his dreams, he felt safe, comfortable. He trusted Peter, wanted to share his deepest darkest thoughts and feelings with the man, wanted to have fun with him, to be able to forget their grief together if only just for a moment.

 

He’d wondered what Peter would’ve been like before the fire, before his life – and his daughter – got ripped away from him like that. He’s fairly sure he got a glimpse of that man at the Fair, the way Peter had talked and laughed like a normal human being – or a normal ‘werewolf’ if you want to get technical about it. He really liked that side of the older man, that side that told him that he and Peter were actually a pretty decent match if he’s not trying to be creepy and manipulate or maim and kill people.

 

He liked Peter’s sass and snarkyness, the way he could just lounge around without a care in the world when people he didn’t care for were in danger, but how he would just as easily risk his own life for the things he did care for.

 

And then there’s always the fact that Peter had basically told him he dreamed about having sex with him, with Stiles of all people. He couldn’t even get people to be interested in talking to him at school, let alone have a sex-dream about him. Especially not someone as hot as Peter Hale. And peter was definitely spank-bank material hot, Stiles isn’t blind.

 

Peter seemed to really like him too, you’d have to like someone if you’re willing to let yourself be dragged into a rollercoaster even though you’d probably rather die again, or if you’re willing to listen to Stiles’ ongoing stream of words, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. Peter actually seemed kind of fond of Stiles’ mannerisms, of the way he manages to trip over his own limbs while standing still and the way he’s not afraid to get up into someone’s personal space and ask invasive questions, even when that someone could easily rip his throat out if they wanted to.

 

And they somehow ended up sharing dreams together, that had to meant something, right?

 

He was sitting in his room the following evening, sleep deprived and tapping away on his laptop, when his phone starts beeping. When he opens his messages he sees there’s a new one from none other than Peter. Do werewolves also read minds or something, is that a thing?

 

**P.H.: _We need to talk._**

 

He looked at the message and felt something bursting in his guts while reading those words, nerves and excitement. They do need to talk, for real, Stiles knows that. He tried to ignore the problem until it would just go away, but that wasn’t an option right now, it was decision-time, he had to stop thinking this through so much and just make a decision. His phone beeped again, the message giving him the address of peter’s apartment downtown.

 

He took a shower first, cleaning himself thoroughly inside and out before telling his dad he was going over to Scott’s to spend the night. When his dad yelled at him from the other room, telling him to have fun and be safe he unconsciously tapped his pants-pocket, feeling the outline of a condom and two travel-packages of lube before hopping into his Jeep.

 

It didn’t take long before he finds himself standing in front of the older man’s front door, and even though he hadn’t been running or anything, he feels his heart pounding loudly in his chest, his breath ragged, trying to control his breathing before knocking on Peter’s door.

 

Fearing he’d lose his guts if he’d wait any longer, he knocks and it takes about a second (maybe less) before he hears someone unlocking the door and he’s face to face with the man of his dreams, _literally_.

 

Looking at the older man standing there wearing that blasphemous v-neck shirt, there’s only one thing Stiles wants to do right now, and ‘talking’ definitely ain’t it.

 

 

+++

 

 

He didn’t know what he expected, but somehow Stiles ignoring him for hours on end hadn’t been on his list of possibilities. He already knew that Stiles would probably only want something from him while dreaming, and not for real. He knew how people saw him, what they thought of him, how Stiles saw him. And he also knew he deserved that, that he’d set that rep for himself and casted it in stone.

 

He could name a whole list of things people called him these days, like ‘Creepy Uncle Peter’, ‘Zombie-Wolf’, ‘That Asshole’, ‘We Don’t Like You’ or ‘Could Someone Kill Him Again Please’, and ‘Possible Lover’ was definitely not on that list. He’d just secretly hoped that maybe…

 

It was stupid. He knew that, he was an intelligent man, but still, he hadn’t expected the kid to say nothing about it, nothing at all. After all, it was Stiles who made a pass at _him_ , he had been nothing but courteous and the kid had literally straddled him and started humping him, kissing him, making him want him even more.

 

And it was so unlike Stiles to not start talking, or rather ‘babbling’, running his mouth in a highly embarrassing way, seeing his face flush all the way down to his neck – and probably beyond, but Peter will probably never know –, tripping over his own words like he usually tripped over his own limbs to try and get his point across, saying that it had all been a mistake, that they should just forget about it all and move on.

 

He could’ve handled that.

 

But instead he got silence, dead-silence, and he would never admit it aloud but those hours in Stiles’ Jeep had hurt like hell. He wanted to rip the upholstery apart and grab the kid by his throat to force him to speak, to say something, anything. Instead he got out of the car as soon as Stiles turned the ignition, not being able to resist biting out one last snark before disappearing into the night.

 

This is not what he wanted, this is not how he wanted it to end before it had even started. He likes Stiles, and if the repercussions of that last shared dream will be for the kid to ignore him like that from now on, to never be able to banter like they always used to do before those dreams, then he’d definitely take it all back if he could, he would’ve never walked away from that window in his nightmare to go and find Stiles, to let Stiles lead him into his own world of pain only to end up sharing with the kid one of the best times he’d had in a very long time.

 

There’s only one way to fix this. They need to talk, even if Stiles wants to ignore it. Peter is willing to do all the talking, but he needs Stiles to listen, to hear him out, hear him say that they just made a mistake, that it’s no big deal, no reason to get their panties in a twist (so to speak), that they got carried away and that it had meant nothing. _All lies._

 

He sends Stiles a text.

 

+++

 

He could hear the kid’s heartbeat thumping restlessly on the other side of the door. It was better to get this over and done with as quickly as possible, just let Stiles say that it was a mistake, maybe throw some insults at each-other for old time’s sake, say their goodbyes, rub one out in the shower and leave it at that. He paused and took a deep breath before going for the doorhandle.

 

The kid took one look at him, visibly sighing, taking in a deep breath of his own as if trying to pick up the courage to do or say something, but before Peter could break the ice by inviting him in, Stiles launched forward and literally jumped him, pressing his mouth against his while flinging his arms around him to press him closer against his body.

 

“I do want you for real, you asshole,” Stiles said in between kissing and gasping, hands reaching for Peter’s ass and squeezing hard, trying to force Peter’s groin against his own. “I want you to do me for real, I want you to fuck me, I want to feel you inside me, I want you to take me apart like I know you want to, and I want you to do it now!”

 

Startled and trying to regain himself, Peter had to let those words sink in for a few seconds before enclosing his own arms around the kid and start kissing back, walking them over to the door to close it and press Stiles up against it.

 

This was certainly not the kind of ‘talk’ he’d expected, but he’ll definitely take it – or rather, _take Stiles_. He needs this, they both need this. He presses his knee between the boy’s thighs, pressing upwards, grabbing the kid’s ass in retaliation and forcing Stiles to wrap his legs around his waist. The boy complies with eager, moaning as Peter presses his clothed erection against him in an upward movement, the friction making him gasp against Stiles’ mouth.

 

 

+++

 

 

He doesn’t even know when exactly he got turned around, but he finds himself leaning against the door with his forehead cushioned  against his forearm, his legs spread wide and a werewolf plastered against his back, rutting his clothed bulge against his ass. He feels the heat radiating from the older man’s body and when Peter thrusts against his ass with force he can’t help the low wanton moan that escapes his throat.

 

“God, fuck, P-Peter, _please_ …”

 

“’Peter please’ what?” The man breathes hoarse against his ear before planting his wet mouth on his pulse-point and starts sucking and biting with gusto, making Stiles gasp for breath.

 

“Please, just – _ngh_ – I need to feel – I – _oh god_.” The feeling of Peter’s mouth on his neck combined with the feeling of Peter’s hand rubbing the front of his pants was almost too much, and he really doesn’t want to come in his pants like this.

 

“Tell me what you want, Stiles.” Peter punctuated his demand by rubbing himself against Stiles’ ass in a pressing circular motion while breathing purposefully heavy against his ear.

 

“I – _ngh_ – clothes, off, they need to go off, now! _Fuck_.”

 

Peter didn’t really need more incentive than that as he practically ripped Stiles’ shirt from his body while removing his own in one swift movement. Before Stiles could really register the cold air of the room, Peter had draped his bare and _hot_ – in every meaning possible – chest against his back again, kissing and licking down his spine while calculatedly working on the front of Stiles’ pants.

 

Before he pulled his pants down, Stiles could feel how the man’s fingers slipped into his pants-pocket and retrieved the two packages of lube, leaving the condom. Of course Peter had smelled those, long live the werewolf sense of smell, because Stiles had completely forgotten about it. Then again, Stiles’ mind wasn’t fully functioning at the moment at all.

 

He did register the heat against his back being replaced by the cold of the room now, but it was quickly overruled by the feeling of two hands parting his ass-cheeks and a wet tongue lapping between his cleft.

 

“Oh my god, _fuck._ ” Even though he knew he was clean, the idea of another man’s tongue prodding at his entrance like that made him feel slightly self-conscious. Luckily that feeling got thrown out the window the second he felt Peter’s tongue breaching his outer rim – _oh, wait, thát’s why they call it ‘rimming’!_

 

“Oh _fuck_ , that’s – yeah, right there, _oh my god_.” Peter had definitely found the right spot and he damn well knew it because Stiles could actually feel the man grinning between is ass.

 

It’s a good thing Peter was holding him tightly, because he’s not sure he’d be able to stand on his own right now, the feeling of hot, wet, and stars becoming almost too much to handle.

 

Suddenly the heath against his back returns and one of the older man’s hand is placed against his lower abdomen while he hears one of the packages being ripped – probably with teeth – and a slicked up finger is prodding at the abandoned wet spot between his cheeks, slowly finding its way inside while he can feel Peter’s breath dampening his neck.

 

“You’re so clean and so tight, and you taste so good. Did you clean yourself especially for me, hm? Did you know I’d falter straight away and fuck you right on the spot?”

 

“Y – yes, _fuck_ , _ngh_.” Now is definitely not the time to ask questions that require intelligible answers, at least, that’s what Stiles’ mind seems to think. Another slick finger joins the other one and the older man starts to scissor him slowly, turning and contracting at the knuckles, prodding at his nerve-filled spot. All Stiles can do now is press his forehead harder against his forearm and pant in short shallow breaths.

 

“Tell me Stiles, do you want me to fuck you like this, hm?” The man takes his earlobe between his teeth and suckles it before pulling teasingly and pressing his fingers deeper inside while rubbing the spot behind his balls with his thumb in a pressing circular movement.

 

“ _Oh god_ , y – yes, _please_ …”

 

The hand on his abdomen is gone and he feels how the man’s fingers slip out of him, but before he can lift his head to turn around and see, one hand grabs his wrist and keeps it firmly against the door above his head. He can hear pants being unzipped and another package being ripped and before the moist between his ass has a chance to cool down, the empty feeling of lost fingers is replaced by something bigger.

 

As Peter uses his own hips to force him to spread his legs some more, he can feel the tip of the man’s dick prodding at his entrance, slowly pressing inside. It hurts like hell, and the fact that this is just the tip of the ice-berg – so to speak – makes him feel a bit panicky, something which probably isn’t a useful feeling right now.

 

“ _Shh_ , Stiles, relax, I’m not going to hurt you.” Although the man’s words definitely make sense, it’s kind of hard to comply to them when he’s feeling like he’s about to be ripped apart. _Death by Dick_ , his mind supplies ever so useful.

 

One hand still holding him up by the wrist, another hand is placed against his lower abdomen again and while Peter starts moving his hips in circular movements while pressing forward, pressing slowly inside, he can feel the burning and stretching pain reside until all that’s left is a distant dull feeling that’s overruled by a feeling of fullness that’s anything but unpleasant.

 

Looking down at the man’s hand and arm he can see the pulse of black running through the man’s veins while Peter bottoms him out, filling him to the hilt. _Yeah, okay, that works too._

 

Peter stays there plastered against his back for a while, kissing and licking and nibbling his shoulder and neck.

 

“Okay?”

 

He can feel the heat inside him, pain surpassed by the sparks of pleasure still present where the man’s dick stretches him inside at just the right spot where his tongue and fingers used to be, and he really needs Peter to move right now.

 

“Yeah, okay. Move!” It wasn’t so much a suggestion as it was a plain command, but Peter didn’t seem to mind as he started to slowly move his hips back, letting himself slip out a bit before pressing forward again, filling him up fully once more.

 

“God, you feel so good,” Peter says against his back while planting kisses and letting his tongue lap at his sweat. “You taste so good.”

 

As the man starts thrusting with a steady rhythm, Stiles loses the ability to form coherent words entirely and all he can do is pant out loose syllables and broken curse-words. He’d definitely been missing out with the whole sex thing, because if this is what it always feels like, he can already say that he’s an addict _pur sang_.

 

The hand holding his wrist loses grip during the thrusts and traces its track down until it’s pressed against his chest. It doesn’t linger there for long, because Stiles wants him to touch him, he _needs_ him to touch him _right now_ , and he knows how to make his demands known.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Peter, you need to touch me, right now!”

 

“Mm, so demanding,” Peter purrs against his ear while slipping his hand further down until he reaches Stiles’ dick and wraps his fingers around it.

 

It takes literally a few pumps before he can feel his whole body trembling and shocking as his orgasm is ripped from him. He feels how his body contracts around Peter and he hears how the older man curses against his back before he too is dragged over the edge. His body goes limp and he praises the fact that Peter is holding him up instead of letting him droop down into a puddle of limbs.

 

They both stay there, Peter plastered against his back while he’s still leaning against the door, practically fused with it, both breathing heavily, panting and releasing content little huffs of laughter.

 

“We can do this again, right,” Stiles can’t help but ask in all honesty, making the man behind him release a breathy chuckle.

 

“Yes. Yes Stiles, we can do this again.”

 

+++

 

 

 

They moved themselves to Peter’s bedroom eventually, and they stayed there until the night fell. Stiles has proven his thoughts about sex to be a fact, he’s definitely an addict. Whether it has something to do with sex in general or Peter specifically, he doesn’t know, but right now he’s willing to put his bet on Peter.

 

They’re both laying in a come and sweat drenched bed, fully content, Stiles splayed on top of the older werewolf drawing circles in the man’s chest-hair while Peter’s hand caresses his back.

“This isn’t a dream, right? I mean, those dreams always seem so real, and I really don’t want to wake up and realize it was all a dream.”

 

Suddenly Peter catches his mouth with his own an bites down on Stiles’ lip so hard that he draws blood.

 

“Ow! You asshole!”

 

The older man just chuckles, kissing Stiles abashed mouth before speaking against his bleeding lip.

 

“Nope, definitely not dreaming.”

 

“I hate you.”

 

“No you don’t.”

 

 

 

 

\- FIN -

**Author's Note:**

> Got some of the info about Hypnagogia from wikipedia, a 'highly reliable source' *coughs*... I've been experiencing hypnagogia myself for years now, due to a severe form of insomnia, and it always keeps fascinating me.. I made up the 'shared lucid dreams', I have no idea whether that can happen or bears any truth.


End file.
